


Wave Good-bye, Wish Me Well

by CascadianRain



Series: So Long to Devotion [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Chantry Boys, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Grinding, Kissing, Marriage Proposal, Neck Kissing, Rebuilding, Viscountess Hawke, Voice Kink, post-DA2 timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CascadianRain/pseuds/CascadianRain
Summary: 9:37 Dragon, after the dust settlesSebastian does his best to convince Hawke to leave Kirkwall for good and come with him to Starkhaven—to claim his birthright and make a life together."That’s my throne, Prince of Starkhaven. Get your own."“Come and conquer me, lass.”





	Wave Good-bye, Wish Me Well

Sebastian had few possessions to his name. His mother’s locket, returned to him by Hawke. His grandfather’s longbow, also returned to him by Hawke. A small carved horse, given to him as a child by his father. A small bundle of letters from his mother, written to him during his early years in the Chantry. In his resentment, he replied to few of them. Some changes of robes, one set of noble finery, a pair of old boots. A bow repair kit, including wax and spare bowstrings.

Gone now. Sebastian had stood amongst the rubble of the Chantry, trying to figure out where his cell was by the surrounding buildings and the twisted up, half-melted statue of Andraste. He found a single sheet of paper, singed on the edges, written in his mother’s hand, and a few stray feathers for fletching.

Everything save the clothes on his back and the bow in his hand was gone.

Ah, and the set of noble finery, which he’d kept at Hawke’s as a change of clothes. In the months leading up the Chantry’s destruction, he’d grown increasingly uncomfortable wearing his Brother’s robes around the woman he chose over renewing his vows. He’d made his choice, yet he still attempted to straddle two disparate lives.

Now the set of robes he’d worn that final night was tucked into a bottom drawer and he was doing up the top button of his noble’s shirt, standing before his lover’s mirror. Another sign from the Maker?

He tugged on his jacket and straightened the shoulders in his reflection. Needed to look smart for his meeting with the new viscountess. He closed his eyes as he ran his palms over his hair, smoothing it down. His pulse kicked up in anticipation and he needed to _breathe_. Find the mark, breathe, and release the arrow. Feel the hum of the bowstring, the sigh of air.

The late morning sun greeted him as he stepped outside. The air still tasted of grit and stone. Across the Hightown courtyard, the ropes cordoning off the rubble of the Chantry was visible. Sebastian’s jaw tightened. The path he’d walked so many times was cut off. Led nowhere. A sign from the Maker.

He turned his sights instead up to the Viscount’s Keep: as severe and imposing as the rest of Kirkwall. It liked to put on airs that it was impenetrable, but the Qunari proved the lie. Seemed so long ago now. Sebastian climbed the steep steps, remembering the first night he watched Kirkwall burn. Screams in the dark. Monsters from across the sea striding through smoke and shadow. He nearly lost Hawke that night, before he knew that it would destroy him to be without her.

A few years later, he followed her up those steps again to meet the Fereldan king—felt fear and jealousy when the king asked her if she’d return there, and she blushed and said, “Maybe.” Sebastian hadn’t yet given her a reason to stay. Maker, he hoped he was reason enough. That giving her a city was enough.

His step faltered as his mind dragged up something he wanted to forget: when Elthina asked Hawke to meet an agent of the Divine in the sealed Keep. Sister Nightengale warned them that things were becoming too dangerous. If only Elthina had listened…. But the Chantry would still be rubble and hundreds would still lie dead.

Enough of this city! Enough of these memories. He’d held off on bringing his petition before the viscountess for two months, while they tried to put this fractured city back together. But it was holding together now—just—and from what Knight-Commander Cullen had told him, not all of the Templars were pleased that an apostate now ruled their city, no matter that she’d helped them time and again over the past many years. Cullen was doing his best, but Sebastian saw the same shaken faith in him that he saw in his own reflection. Perhaps the Maker had a new path in place for Cullen, too.

Sebastian pushed open the doors to the Keep, nodded to the guards posted within. He began to walk forward, but...was that a smirk the guards exchanged? No, he was imagining it. Even so, a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He and Charlotte didn’t go on about their relationship, but nor did they keep it a guarded secret. The viscountess and an exiled prince were bound to draw attention.

He cleared his throat and set his eyes straight ahead as he made his way to Hawke’s office. This was official business. The antechamber door closed quietly behind him, but as he crossed to Hawke’s office door, his steps slowed. It was slightly ajar and the conversation within drifted through. Hawke sounded annoyed and the unmistakable voice of Varric had its usual not-quite-disinterested tone.

Sebastian heard a pen hit a tabletop and Hawke say, “You’re almost as bad as Isabela! Always needling me for details and asking morifying questions. ‘Does he pray before or after or during?’ Does he ask me to roleplay as Andraste? Is he utterly insatiable from being chaste for so long? I can’t even repeat some of them. The things in that woman’s mind are _filthy_.”

Heat flooded Sebastian’s face. A shared glance between a few guards was one thing, but the fact that people he _knew_ were having these conversations—and that Isabela even _suggested_ some of those thing s —he wanted to sink straight through the floor. Besides, he wouldn’t call himself _insatiable_...

“Maybe you’re just a prude,” Varric said with a shrug in his voice. A tense silence stretched and Varric quickly added, “Or maybe you aren’t! Though I do have to admit a certain professional interest in some of those answers...”

“ _Ohhh no_ _you don’t_. I read Swords and Shields. I saw what you did to Aveline. If I find a copy of ‘The Prince in Her Pants’ or some rubbish I’ll know exactly who to hit.”

Sebastian half-choked, half-laughed. _The Prince in Her—_ Right. Time to put a stop to this. He pushed open the door with a tapping knock as Varric was saying, “But you just gave me a great title! I’ll share the profits with you, 75/25. That’s the mate rate just for you. Ah, Choir Boy! Just in time, I had some questions for you—”

Hawke stood up, hands on her desk, a frown creasing her face. “No! Don’t say a word, Sebastian. And you—get out before I throw you out.”

“Ruling with an iron fist, is it? Fine fine, I know when I’m not wanted.” As he walked past Sebastian, he pitched his voice low and conspiritorial. “Hanged Man tonight, drinks are on me.”

“He can’t, he’s busy!”

Varric left, chuckling to himself.

Hawke fell back into her chair with a groan. “Lock that door, will you?”

Sebastian obliged, relieved to seal them off from the whispers of the city.

“I was surprised to find your name on my list of meetings for today,” Hawke said, eyeing him. “You didn’t need to go through my assistant.”

Sebastian straighted his shirt and summoned his royal bearing. “I did. I’m here in my capacity as the rightful Prince of Starkhaven in exile, requesting formal aid from the Viscountess of Kirkwall to reclaim my throne. As Starkhaven’s largest trading partner, you can hold significant sway over it, if you wished. The man who currently sits the throne was put there by—”

Hawke raised a hand, a gentle smile on her lips. “Peace, Sebastian, I know. I was there when we stopped Lady Harimann’s schemes. Of course I’ll help, in any way I can.”

His shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t doubt it, I simply—I wanted to go about things in the right way. Make it official.”

“Do you have a formal proposal, or just...trade partners?”

“I need to go in person, show the people who I am now. That way Goran can’t feed them lies quite so easily. Smile for the jackals.”

“It’ll be dangerous.” Hawke raised her eyes to his. “You may need a bodyguard as well as a viscountess.”

Relief flooded through him—he hadn’t realized how tense he’d been to hear something along those lines until she spoke it. “Would you? It would mean leaving Kirkwall—”

“What do I have left here? The Templars and mages stopped fighting, for what that’s worth. The gangs are trying to pick themselves up, but Aveline’s guards sweep through them easily. My friends are all drifting to the wind—Isabela and Fenris took a ship yesterday, Merrill ran off with some Dalish two weeks ago, and Aveline is so busy with the aftermath that I only see her in an official capacity these days. I suppose there’s Varric, but no, he’s dead to me now. I think...for the first time, my life is my own. Besides, all viscounts do is paperwork and I hate it.”

“Kirkwall won’t cease to function without you?”

“The city barely noticed when the last viscount was _murdered._ No one will care if I take an extended leave of absence. Maybe forever.” All of Charlie’s fatigue and annoyance drained away as she seemed to be considering everything that leaving Kirkwall meant. She came round her desk and pulled Sebastian to her by the front of his shirt, pressing a scorching kiss to his lips. Her grin was _luminous_. “It won’t take me long to pack. All we have to do is find a ship. The quieter we leave, the better.”

“Of course,” Sebastian murmured, leaning down to see where the kiss would lead—but Charlie flitted away without noticing and set to unlocking the liquor cabinet in the corner.

With the weight of the meeting lifted, Sebastian’s mind turned toward other things. So much for keeping this above board and official. While Charlie was distracted, Sebastian moved around her desk and sat in her highbacked chair. This was the real seat of power in Kirkwall—the towering throne in the main hall merely for show.

Charlie bent over to fetch some glasses from the lower part of the cabinet. Heat bloomed within Sebastian and dropped down low, sending a twitch through his length as he admired the view.

Charlie turned back toward him, bottle and glasses in hand, and stopped short. One eyebrow arched. “That’s _my_ throne, Prince of Starkhaven. Get your own.”

“But this one was so much less trouble.” He leveled a gaze dark with want at her, a mischievous smile hovering on his lips. “Come and conquer me, lass.”

“Are you sure you want to challenge me?” Slowly, Charlie set down the would-be celebratory drinks and tugged out the leather strip tying back her hair. All the while, she never met his eyes. Orange hair tumbled just past her shoulders, and a blush was creeping up her throat, swallowing her freckles. Anticipation curled tight within Sebastian, his breathing growing shallow as he watched her.

With deliberate precision, Charlie loosened the laces at the front of her shirt. As a generous view of her chest appeared, her eyes snapped up to Sebastian. Blue. Fierce. Determined. She strode toward him and Sebastian’s breath caught. Maker take him, but she was incredible.

Charlie pushed him back roughly against the chair, looking down at him with a faint smirk on her lips. Sebastian’s hands rested lightly on her hips as he bit his lower lip in anticipation of what she had planned for him.

Featherlight fingers drifted up his neck, traced his jawline, tilting his head back to rest against the chair. His eyes slid shut as his lips gently parted on a sigh. Charlie wasn’t using her magic, but she may as well have been. Her merest touch was a healing balm against all the world threw at him. Her lips touched his, soft at first, radiant as the Maker’s Light in the dark behind his eyelids.

Charlie sank onto his lap, her legs fitting easily on either side of his in the sizeable chair, never once breaking their kiss. She kissed him slow, as though time spared them its passing. Her tongue swiped his lip before pressing in to meet his. The hot velvet drew a moan from him. Sebastian’s hands slid up her sides, up her back, holding her close _close_. If the Maker granted him a single wish, it would be to never be parted from this impossible woman.

Her hips rocked forward, her core grinding perfectly against Sebastian’s hard length. He drew a hissed breath between his teeth, his fingers tightening on her thighs. Charlie leaned forward, hips moving a slow rhythm, and nibbled his ear. Half-formed words in his native tongue fell from his lips as his mind lost capacity for coherent thoughts. Sebastian’s hips thrust up to meet her and Charlie’s moan nearly undid him.

Sebastian’s mouth found her throat, his open-mouth kisses driving shudders through Charlie. “Varric wouldn’t call you a prude if he knew half of what we do together.” His teeth grazed vulnerable skin as he spoke. He nipped to make his point.

“Maker! Please don’t tell him!”

“The things I wish to do to you...” The words became a hungry groan, hot in his chest. Charlie pressed into his kisses, practically vibrating in his arms. “I want to _devour_ you, _m_ _o cridhe_.”

“Shall my last act as viscountess be the plunder of a rival city-state’s prince?”

“I am yours to do with as you wish, my lady. I am at your mercy in my exile.” His hands slid down under her waistband to grip her backside, lifting her more firmly against him as his teeth traced her collarbone.

A banging on the door made Charlie jump and her fingers curl into Sebastian’s shoulders. He wrapped an arm protectively around her and whispered, “It’s all right.”

Aveline’s muffled voice came through the door: “Hawke! A moment?”

“Not now! I’m in the middle of negotiations with foreign royalty.” They heard an irritated sniff and retreating footsteps. Charlie sighed. “We don’t have long. The demands on the viscountess are relentless. Plunder will have to wait.”

A defiant growl rumbled through Sebastian. He tugged her close, one hand staying in place in her smalls, the other moving up her back under her shirt, fingers tracing along her spine. Steady, rhythmic thrusts upward drew a moan from Charlie in the shape of Sebastian’s name. Void take the layers between them—

“Tell me about Starkhaven,” Charlie said breathlessly.

“Of course, _mo cridhe_ ,” he said, his brogue thick with lust. Charlie loved his voice and he would not deny her pleasure. He told her of the river the came down from the mountains and embraced the city on all sides, its current strong and powerful. His hand on her back followed the lines of her ribs to brush his thumb down the side of her breast and beneath, fingers ghosting across her pebbled peak. He squeezed briefly and Charlie arched into his hand, but he continued on down her belly and side, fingers just firm enough.

Sebastian told her of the endless moors visible from the palace perched atop the city. He came to her waistband and ripped out the laces. The moors were purple when the heather blooms, curled in mist for spring and autumn. His thumb delved past her smalls, pushing through curls to seek her swollen bud. His fingers grasped her hip as he found her, wet and ready, and flicked the pad of his thumb over her. Charlie sucked in a breath with a hiss, gripping his shoulders. Later, _later_ , he would make her cry out as he took her to the heights of pleasure. When their time was their own and the jackals stopped circling, demanding their viscountess. But for a few moments more, he could whisper her promises and bring her close...

“The winters are cold, _mo cridhe,_ I will nae lie. Aye, but we’ll have a big fireplace to keep the chill away. Sitting before it on a singed carpet, with mugs of hot toddies.” The smell of her want intoxicated him. “Lemon and honey,” he murmured against her skin. “Tea and whiskey.” He pushed his nose into her hair, kissing behind her ear. “All wrapped up in lambswool blankets.”

“Sounds cozy,” Charlie panted, a whine beneath her words. “What are we wearing under the blankets?”

A hungry groan surged through Sebastian. He tugged her shirt partway off her shoulder, laying fervent kisses and bites across her exposed skin. “ _Not a thread_.”

A serrated sigh escaped her as she shuddered in his arms. “Maker, yes...”

Charlie settled back on his legs, her fingers tracing across his forehead to brush a stray hair back in place. Her smile was warm and gentle, and her gaze, when it found its way to his eyes, shone with love.

_Thank you, Blessed Andraste, for this love in my heart. For Charlotte’s love._

Sebastian didn’t know if he deserved it, didn’t care. He’d do all that he could to earn it every single day.

Locked away in her office, just the two of them, not a whisper of anger or sorrow creased Charlie’s features. “Thank you, my heart—my everything. Being with you has given me something that I forgot for a long time: _hope_. Sebastian Vael, _I love you_.”

Sebastian surged forward to kiss her, hugging her fiercely. He didn’t have words for how deeply he loved her, adored her, but hoped somehow she’d understand. The kiss drifted deep, but chaste, and Sebastian sank back in the chair. His fingers traced every contour of her face just to touch her. “Charlotte Amell Hawke, will you marry me?”

Charlie’s blue eyes widened and she laughed in surprise. “But it’s such a bother!”

“I don’t need an oath before the Maker to know I belong to you, _mo cridhe_. Forever, if you’ll have me. But certain things are expected of a prince and I won’t let anything come between us.” He shook his head with a laugh, gently stroking a thumb across her cheek, then pushing his fingers into her hair so he could lose himself in her eyes. “Why did I ever envy my brothers the life of a Prince? A third son could’ve lived quite happily with you in a modest home of minor royalty, comfortable and out of the way of politics.”

“All we need is that room with a fireplace. And doors that lock.” Charlie’s eyebrows rose for emphasis.

Sebastian laughed. “Aye, lass. Anything you wish."

**Author's Note:**

> That’s the end-- thanks for reading! 
> 
> Might get around to expanding “Stolen Moment” and maybe an epilogue or two in Starkhaven if Life Things allow.


End file.
